


Summer Camp AU

by fictionalaspect



Series: Unfinished, Abandoned, Snippets, Bits and Pieces [6]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Gen, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If I had finished writing this, it would have been the worst kind of self-insertion fan fiction possible--not because I would have been any of the characters, but because I spent years and years working at a summer camp, and it's very close to my heart. I decided to err on the side of caution and not insert Pete and Mikey into my own personal teenage history.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Summer Camp AU

**Author's Note:**

> If I had finished writing this, it would have been the worst kind of self-insertion fan fiction possible--not because I would have been any of the characters, but because I spent years and years working at a summer camp, and it's very close to my heart. I decided to err on the side of caution and not insert Pete and Mikey into my own personal teenage history.

The best part about Registration Day was that—so far—no one had remembered to check the roof of the Mess Hall.

Pete Wentz, Senior Counselor in charge of Cabin 22 (known to the rest of the staff as CHITOWN) readjusted his footing and readied his missiles. It was pudding this year, which Pete privately considered to be a stroke of genius. Last year's Registration Day had been good, too, but Pete was keeping it old school this year. Going out in style, all that shit. Plus, the water balloons had been cheap and Pete was maybe sort of broke after he'd blown all of his money on a new bass, but whatever. The point was, there was an entire staff full of eager, wet-behind-the-ears CIT's currently meeting below him and Patrick apparently had been too busy to lock the door to the roof. Pete had this shit on _lockdown._

He waited until he heard the slam of doors opening and closing just underneath the gutter, coupled with the nervous chatter of overly excited voices. He could hear the sound of the large, cast iron bell next to the Assembly Hall, the familiar ring signaling that camp was officially open for the season. Pete knew he had maybe three or four minutes before someone looked up and saw him silhouetted against the summer sun. Sweat dripped down his back but Pete stayed in the same motionless crouch, waiting for exactly the right moment, the maximum number of targets.

He waited until everyone was outside and then Pete grabbed the first water balloon, carefully selecting his first victim, a brown-haired CIT standing in a loose group of other first-years, for maximum splatter potential. He pulled his arm back to throw and then smiled, wide and disarming, at no one in particular.

It was going to be an awesome summer.

*

The best part about Registration Day for Mikey Way was that no one had actually noticed he was missing.

Mikey leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, kicking one leg idly against a nearby branch. He was fully aware he was supposed to be in a meeting, some bullshit about how they all needed to be friendly and polite and helpful when the parents came to drop their kids off. Mikey suspected he'd end up telling the CIT co-ordinator to go fuck herself, so he'd skipped, even though he knew it would end in Gerard making the disappointed face at him. Mikey hated Gerard's disappointed face, but he hated being expected to smile on command even more.

Mikey still didn't really understand what he was even doing here. He'd explained to his mom like six times that despite what the cops said when they came to the house, he really hadn't been selling weed out of the basement. Mikey just usually happened to know where some was located, and if he had been maybe facilitating the dealer to high-school-student relationship a bit heavily that semester it was only because Otter owed him like $500 and Mikey was pretty sure he was never going to see the cash again unless that dicksmack had some help in moving his product.

He'd still gotten community service, though, and then Gerard had had the brilliant idea that Mikey should be a counselor-in-training for the summer at Camp Kolwalash while Gerard taught art for the third year running. Mikey had never really gotten a chance to protest; Gerard had come up with the idea on a Thursday and by Monday Mikey was jammed into the back seat of Gerard's wheezy Impala, trying not to end up with a paintbrush in his eye every time they went over a bump.

"Look," Gerard had said, turning down the tape deck so only the faintest echo of the Smiths was audible. "Look, I know you're pissed and you wanted to hang out with Frank all summer and get into trouble but there's some really cool kids here, I promise. You're not going to be the only one on staff that likes Fugazi."

"We wouldn't have gotten into trouble," Mikey said.

"Mikey," Gerard said patiently. "Mikey, you were selling weed out of the basement. You were selling weed out of my _room_."

"I told you," Mikey said, frowning as a roll of parchment paper fell onto his lap. He shoved it away with a crinkle. "All I did was make some phone calls. And you're away at college, it's not your room anymore."

"A lot of phone calls," Gerard said. "To people who wanted to buy weed. And it's totally still my room."

"Whatever," Mikey said. "How the fuck did you even convince this place to hire me, anyway?"

"You're not hired. You're like. You're volunteering. That's the point of community service," Gerard said earnestly. "You're giving back to the community."

"I'm going to corrupt them and shit," Mikey said, scrolling through the songs on his Ipod. Gee had gone to all the trouble of getting one of those stupid tape-deck car-hookup kits for the drive, and Mikey certainly wasn't going to turn down the chance to play deejay for six hours. "I'm going to teach them all about the joys of death metal. And smoking weed."

"Mikey," Gerard said, slightly pained.

"Kidding, Gee," Mikey said, rolling his eyes. "I'm kidding." That tone in his brother's voice was usually a precursor to emphatic hand-waving, and considering Gerard was driving, Mikey was pretty keen on arriving with all of his limbs intact.

"You can hang out with me at the art shed anytime," Gerard said, slurping his extra-large iced coffee and fumbling around in the front seat for his cigarettes, the pack balanced precariously on the stack of canvases and other odds and ends that didn't fit in the backseat. "I mean, not when you're supposed to like, be somewhere, but any _other_ time."

"Cool." Mikey said. "Can I have a cigarette?" He eyed Gerard's pack with interest.

"No," Gerard said.

"But—"

"No," Gerard said.


End file.
